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THE ADDRESS, 

AT BURLINGTON COLLEGE, 



ON THE 



SEVENTY-SECOND ANNIVERSARY OF AMERICAN INDEPENDENCE, 



JULY 4, MDCCCXLVril; 



THE RIGHT REV. GEORGE WASHINGTON DOANE, D.D., LL.D., 

BISHOP OF NEW JERSET, /• 

PHESIDENT OF THE C0LEE6E. 



3SurX(ngfoni 

£DXCirD HOBRIS, AT THE SIISSIONABT FBESS. 

MDCCCXLVIII. 






Bonpoo v&ltiM'^vli 



At a meeting of Trustees, and other friends, of Burlington College, held 
in the Junior Hall, immediately after the delivery of the Address, by the 
Bishop, the Rev. Dr. Boyd was called to the chair, and John J. Chetwood, 
Esq., appointed Secretary. 

On motion of the Rev. Mr. Odenheimer, it was unanimously resolved, 
that a Committee be appointed, to take immediate measures for (he publi- 
cation of the valuable and thrilling Address of the Bishop: whereupon, 
Thomas D. Mutter, M.D., the Rev. Mr. Ogilby, and the Rev. Mr. Southard, 
were appointed. 

John J, Chetwood, Secretary. 

Burlington, July 4, 1848. 



To the Right Rev. Dr. Doane, Bishop of New Jersey, President of Burling- 
ton College, «Scc., &c., &c. 

Right Rev. and dear Sir : 

The undersigned, a Committee appointed by those who witnessed the 
very interesting exercises, at the late celebration of the Fourth of July, in 
Burlington College, respectfully ask, that you will favour them with a copy 
of your Address, for publication. We are convinced that the greatest good 
will result from the dissemination of the sentiments, which it so ably and 
powerfully expresses. 

ThOS. D. MiJTTER, 

Sam'l. L. Southard, 
Fred'k. Ogilbt. 
Burli'^gton, July ith, 1848. 



ADDRESS. 



The great gift of God to man is peace. The 
angels sang it, when they brought from heaven the 
welcome message of a Saviour born: ''Glory be to 
God on high, and, on earth, peace." And, when the 
Saviour was about to go again to heaven, His legacy 
to His disciples, and, through them, to us, was still 
the same : " Peace I leave with you ; My peace I 
give unto you." The gifts of God to man are sacred 
trusts. They are not his alone. He holds them for 
his kind ; and must account for them to God. Of 
nothing is this truer, than of peace. Peace is a sa- 
cred thing. It is the halcyon weather of the heart ; 
when all the virtues brood, and all the charities are 
teeming with a warmer and more genial life. The 
Sabbath-morning of Creation was not serener, in its 
solemn hush ; nor Plato's loveliest dream, the Music 
of the Spheres, more exquisite in harmony. Perfect, 
in patriotism, as in piety, was that prayer of Royal 
David, for the people, and the country, of his love : 
"Pray for the peace of Jerusalem !" And, loveliest 
of the strains of prayer, and fittest for an angel's 
voice, is that, which we have left out from our 
fathers' Liturgy, " Give peace, in our time, Lord ; 



because there is none oilier thai fighteth for us, but 
only Thou, O God!" 

I have not forgotten, that the great public docu- 
ment,^ which has just been read before us, as the 
manner of this celebration is, was the solemn pre- 
lude of a long and arduous war, between two na- 
tions ; who, in the sight of God, stood, as a mother 
and her child. Nor, that, in thirty years, they were 
again engaged in war. Nor, that, since then, the 
danger, once and again, has been most imminent, that 
they must bathe themselves in blood. It is rather 
because these things have been so, that I have spo- 
ken thus. Because, as one that has to do with young 
and tender minds, I would be careful for their first 
impressions. Because, in settling, as the usage of this 
College, to be kept, I trust, to "the last syllable of re- 
corded time," the observance of this birth-day of our 
nation, I would disavow^ now and forever, for myself, 
for you, my friends, and for these children, the faint- 
est shadow of a thought, that it involves the slightest 
remnant of a hostile feeling, toward that great nation, 
from whose womb we sprung, and, at w^hose bursting 
breasts, our fathers all were nursed. That, so far 
from that, a fit and proper use of this, our nation's 
holiday, is the renewal of the vows of love, which 
brothers owe to brothers. That, having fought our 
w^ay to man's estate, and won the prize for which we 
fought, and made it glorious before men and angels, 
we can well afford to shake hands, and be friends; 



'The Declaraliou of Independence had been read hv Cornelius E. 
SSwope, A.B., an Assistant (Classical Teacher. 



and, none the less, but some tlie more, that we have 
quarreled twice, and fought it out.' That, having 
tried the issues of the fight, and tasted all its woes, 
our thoughts are turned to peace ; as God's great gift 
to us, and our great trust for man. That, so God 
help us, we will fight no more; and, least of all, with 
our own brethren of the blood : but, will set forth, to 
all mankind, as truths, which freemen only feel, that, 
the two nations of the world, who know what free- 
dom is, and how to use it, are too great to fight; that, 
neither can require of either, what the other should 
not give ; that, where we cannot quite agree, wc can 
agree to disagree ; that, we have common duties, to 
perform; a common trust, for human kind, to exe- 
cute; a common source, from which our hearts all 
fill their cisterns, with the same red blood; a common 
language, which our mothers' voice first made fa- 
miliar to our ears, in lullabies; in which we wooed and 
won our wives; in which our children lisped and 
prattled nature's loveliest melodies to all our hearts ; 
a common stock of learning and of letters, such as all 
the world beside has not to show; and, best and 
dearest of them all, a common Church, a common 
altar, and the common prayers. Not, that the acts 
and efforts of our patriot fathers shall be disavowed, 
or disregarded. Not, that the trials and the toils, the 
struggles and the sacrifices, of the men of seventy- 
six, can ever cease to be our heritage and glory. Not, 
that the memory of Lexington and Bunker Hill, of 
Monmouth, Princeton, Trenton, ever can grow pale. 

' Irse amantium, araoris redintegratio. 



But, that, things done are (inished; that by-gones 
should be by-gones; that a fight, fought through, is 
done ; that the only justifiable end of war is true and 
lasting peace ; that life was made for love ; that na- 
tions have a mission and a trust ; that Great Britain 
and America are set, for the two hemispheres, to be 
the feuglemen of freedom, and the standard-bearers 
of the Cross. 

These obvious and most enviable truths, God, by 
His gracious providence, is making real, in our time. 
The ready heart and open hand, which poured the 
golden treasures of our garners on the hearths of 
starving Ireland, with an eagerness, which gain has 
never prompted, an impetuosity which commerce 
never felt, touched all the tenderest places in the 
British heart : and, when the threatened demonstra- 
tion of the Chartists, but the other day, frighted "the 
isle from its propriety," the pulseless stillness, in 
which an anxious nation waited, on our "Western 
strand, to hear the issue, and the manly burst of joy- 
ful gladness which welled up to God, to own His 
mercy, to the nation and the Church, in which our 
fathers worshipped and were nurtured, have stirred 
the truest and the deepest pulses of the heart of Eng- 
land ; and knit her to us, with a bond of cordial, and, 
I trust, imperishabl-e love. Wc may well rejoice, that 
these things are. The world is stirred, and tossed, 
and agitated, like a seething caldron. An hour up- 
turns a throne. Another, and the new republic is 
the crater of a new volcano. Another, and perhaps 
a throne is cast up, with its fierce and fiery flood. 
No man can say, this day, what nation on the Conti- 



nent of Europe is not involved in civil war. No 
man can say, what government is not the creature 
and the prey of a mad mob. No man can say, what 
instincts of nature are desecrated, what charities of 
life are trampled under foot, what holiest places are 
profaned. It seems the trial-hour of Europe; and, it 
may be, of the world. In human view, the salient 
points of hope, for Truth and Freedom ; and for Chris- 
tianity, as charged with both, and indispensable to 
their existence, are, now, America and England. If 
God keep us at peace, hold us erect in our position 
with the nations, and make us faithful to our trust for 
man, the issue, with His blessing, is an issue full of 
hope. A new order of things may be established, on 
a better basis, and to better purposes. Freedom se- 
cured by Law. Order enforced by Love. Patriot- 
ism purified by Religion. The World subjected to 
the Cross. Time made the foretaste of Immortality. 
That it may be so, let us unite our prayers. That it 
may be so, let us combine our eiforts. Let us devote 
the day to thoughts and offices of love. Let us de- 
vote our lives to acts and influences of peace. And, 
for ourselves, and for our brothers of the blood, and 
in the faith, let the one strife hereafter ever be, which 
shall do most to realize the angels' hymn, and bring 
heaven down to earth : " Glory be to God on high ; 
and on earth peace, good will to men ! " 

A Poet and a Painter of our own, a Poet and a 
Painter for all time, Washington AUston, in years, 
now long gone by, uttered such thoughts and senti- 
ments as these, in words, which cannot die. His no- 
ble lyric, "England and America," among the very 



10 

noblest of its name, sounds, like a trumpet, through 
all time, and thrills through every heart. 

Though ages long have past, 

Since our fathers left their home, 
Their pilot in the blast, 

O'er untravelled seas to roam, 
Yet lives the blood of England in our veins ; 
And, shall we not proclaim 
That blood of honest fame. 
Which no tyranny can tame, 
By its chains 1 

While the language free and bold 
Which the bard of Avon sung, 
In which our Milton told 

How the vault of Heaven rung. 
When Satan, blasted, fell with all his host; 
While these with reverence meet, 
Ten thousand echoes greet, 
And, from rock to rock repeat. 

Round our coast : 

While the manners, while the arts. 

That mould a nation's soul, 
Still cling around our hearts. 
Between, let ocean roll. 
Our joint communion breaking with the sun ; 
Yet, still, from either beach, 
The voice of blood shall reach, 
More audible than speech, 
We are one. 

And now, this day, as from another generation, 
there comes to me, by the last steamer, an echo to 
this glorious trumpet-rally of the nations, A dear 
young friend,' the son of one of the best friends I ever 

• George Henry Warren, travelling with his brother, Stephen E. Warren ; 
both of Troy, New York. They are the sons of Nathan Warren, who was 
the brother of Esaias and Stephen ; the sons of Eliakim and Phebe War- 
ren. Five names have never stood for more of purity and piety and chari- 
ty; nor has the Church had truer children. They are now all at rest; and 
their meinory is blessed. 



11 

had, commended, by my letters, to the true English 
hearts, who have enshrined me in their love, visiting 
at Albury, the delightful residence of Martin Far- 
quhar Tupper, the author of "Proverbial Philoso- 
phy," an English gentleman, in every highest sense, 
and a true Christian Poet, sends me a ballad, written 
by Mr. Tupper, in honour of the visit; with the ex- 
pression of his wish, that I will make it public, in 
America. Can I better do it than, here, with you, my 
children, and my friends ? You will say, with me, 
that, had he known our gathering, he could not have 
fitted an apter shaft, nor given it happier aim. It is 
dated, ''Albury, June 8, 1848;" and is entitled, 



A LOVING BALLAD, TO BROTHER JONATHAN; 

FHOM MARTIJf FARaUHAR TUPPER, 

Ho, brother, I'm a Britisher, 

A chip of heart of oak. 
That wouldn't warp or swerve or stir, 

From what 1 thought or spoke : 
And you, a blunt and honest man. 

Straight forward, kind and true ; 
I tell you, brother Jonathan, 

That you 're a Briton, too ! 

I know your heart, an open heart, 

I read your mind and will ; 
A greyhound, ever on the start. 

To run for honour, still : 
And, shrewd to scheme a likely plan. 

And, stout to see it done; 
I tell you, brother Jonathan, 

That you and I are cue. 



1-2 

There may be jealousies and sirile, 

For men have selfish ends; 
But petty quarrels ginger life, 

And help to season friends ; 
And Pundits, who, with solemn scan, 

Judge humans most aright, 
Decide it, testy Jonathan, 

That brothers always fight. 

Two fledgeling sparrows, in one nest, 

Will chirp about a worm ; 
Then, how should eaglets meekly rest, 

The nurslings of the storm ? 
No, while their rustled pinions fan 

The eyrie's downy side, 
Like you and me, my Jonathan, 

It 's all for love and pride. 

" God save the Queen " delights you still. 

And "British Grenadiers ;" 
The good old strains your heart-strings thrill, 

And hold you by both ears : 
And we — 0, hate us, if you can, 

For we are proud of you — 
We like you, brother Jonathan, 

And " Yankee Doodle," too. 

There's nothing foreign in your face, 

Nor strange upon your tongue ; 
You come not of another race, 

From baser lineage sprung: 
No, brother, though away you ran, 

As truant boys will do. 
Still, true it is, young Jonathan, 

My fathers fathered you. 

Time was — it was not long ago — 

Your grandsires went with mine, 
To battle traitors, blow for blow, 

For England's royal line: 
Or, tripp'd to court, to kiss Queen Anne, 

Or worship royal Bess; 
And you and I, good Jonathan, 

Went wiili llicm, then, I guess. 



13 

Together, both— 'twas long ago— 

Among the Roses, fought ; 
Or, charging fierce the Paynim foe, 

Did all knight-errants ought: 
As Cavalier or Puritan, 

Together pray'd, or swore ; 
For, John's own brother, Jonathan, 

Was simple John, of yore. 

There lived a man, a man of men, 

A king, on fancy's throne ; 
We ne'er shall see his like again. 

The globe is all his own : 
And, if we claim him of our clan, 

He half belongs to you; 
For, Shakspeare, happy Jonathan, 

Is yours, and ours, too. 

There was another glorious name, 

A poet for all time. 
Who gained " the double-first" of fame, 

The beautiful, sublime ; 
And, let us hide^him as we can, 

More miserly than pelf, 
Our Yankee brother, Jonathan, 

Cries " halves !" in Milton's self. 

Weil, well ; and every praise of old. 

That makes us famous still ; 
You would be just, and may be bold, 

To share it, if you will : 
Since England's glory first began. 

Till — ^just the other day, 
The half is yours — but, Jonathan, 

Why did you run awayl 

Oh, brother, could we both be one, 

In nation and in name, 
How gladly would the very sun 

Lie basking in our fame ! 
In either world, to lead the van. 

And " go ahead," for good ; 
While each, to John and Jonathan, 

Yields tribute-gratitude. 



14 

Add but your stripes, and golden stars, 

To our St. George's Cross ; 
And never dream of mutual wars, 

Two dunces' mutual loss : 
Let us two bless, where others ban. 

And love when others hate ; 
And so, my cordial Jonathan, 

We '11 fit, I calculate. 

What more ? I touch not holier strings, 

A loftier strain to win ; 
Nor glance at prophets, priests and kings. 

Or heavenly kith and kin : 
As friend with friend, and man with man, 

O, let our hearts be thus — 
As David's love to Jonathan, 

Be Jonathan's to us ! 



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